Chapter Thirty-One
After a few miles there was enough warmth coming out of the vents that Flynn didn’t have to huddle over one. That meant he could focus on the second-most-important thing, which happened to be singing along to the radio and dancing in his seat.
“Just how many beers did you actually have?”
He winked at me, still singing - mostly the wrong lyrics, naturally, but not letting that dim his enthusiasm - while he reached out to crank the volume.
I shook my head, amused. “If you didn’t want to talk...” It was practically a shout, so as to be heard over the song.
Flynn nudged me in the shoulder, playfully, though he tried at least to make it seem like part of his dance. “Aren’t you happy?”
It’d come out as a bellow; I winced as I tweaked the volume knob down.
“I am, though you seem happier. Or is that just the drink?”
The electric slide was not designed to be performed in the front passenger seat of a twenty-year-old Chevy pickup, but he seemed determined to try.
“My cute boyfriend’s best friends approve of me, and he’s moving in with me tomorrow. What’s not to be happy about?”
“You bought them drinks,” I pointed out, “they were primed to like you.”
“Such a cynic.”
I laughed. “Fine, fine. They did like you, and I’m happy about that. And yes, I’m also happy to be moving in with you. Along with all the other emotions, that I know we’ve talked to death about.”
His fingers wrapped around mine on the steering wheel. “It’s a big step. It was for me, too. But it’ll be so much better, I promise.”
I nodded, watching the road. “I know. And I do believe you. Just... butterflies in my stomach.”
Flynn rubbed his stomach, with a groan. “Never mind butterflies, now I want takeout.”
“You’re in the sticks, remember. Your choices are pizza, burger, or cereal at home.”
#
He opted for ‘at home,’ which was probably better for his cholesterol. Still definitely tipsy by the time I eased the truck to a stop, though not fall-down drunk. Even so, I decided it was probably best to walk him to the door.
“What time do you want to head out in the morning?”
Flynn made an unhappy noise. “Ask my hangover tomorrow.”
“You can sleep it off while I finish packing, then.” I tousled his hair. “Such a lightweight.”
He stuck his tongue out at me, as he noisily fumbled the key into the lock.
I was about to head home when the porch light clicked on. Flynn just managing to open the door, in time to reveal his mom with an unimpressed look on her face.
“Flynn?”
He waved, hand still holding the key. “Hey, mom.”
She glanced between us. “Are you drunk?”
It was tempting to leave, to backstep out of the dim pool of light and her far brighter disapproval. Only then she might think that we’d both been drinking, and that was hardly going to help her opinion of me.
“I was designated driver,” I said, holding up my keys.
The explanation did nothing to soften her expression. “So, that meant it was a good idea to get my son drunk?”
“I’m not drunk!” It was a rousing protest, certainly, though probably not entirely convincing. “And Oli was helping me, actually.”
“After getting you drunk in the first place.” Not quite a sneer, though I’d seen that supercilious look before.
Usually after recounting Flynn’s latest achievements to my parents, with the sort of crowing-but-apologetic tone that said “I’m sorry your son is a fuck-up, it gives me no pleasure to remind you of that fact. ”
I’d always been skeptical of the latter half.
“I think it’s probably a good thing you’re going back in the morning,” she continued, speaking as though I wasn’t even there to hear it. “Hanging around with these town folk will only get you into trouble.”
Flynn stood up a little taller. “Oli’s friends were great, actually. There’s no need to be such a snob, mom.”
You’d think, from her hiss of displeasure, that he’d just slapped her.
“I’m not a snob! Flynn, how could you. I just think you’re... on a different path from them, that’s all. I’m sure even Oliver here would agree with that.”
It was funny, being tagged in to convince someone that yes, they were better than me, and no, us hanging out was probably a terrible idea. I made the best attempt I could, to marshal my expression. “Flynn is certainly a great success, yes.”
She nodded, as though I’d suitably debased myself and anyone else within the township limits. “You see? Oliver agrees.”
Flynn snorted. “Oli is a nice guy, who’ll say whatever’s required to maintain the peace. Even if it means putting himself down in the process.” He cast a meaningful look my way. “Which is one of the reasons I love him so much.”
His mom winced. “You’ve hardly been friends since you were both little kids. Things are very different, now.”
He stared at me, pointedly.
I shook my head, just slightly. Wanting him to go inside, to tell her whatever it was she needed to hear - yes, even if “maintaining the peace” was a sort of cowardice - in order to settle the topic.
Flynn sighed, tiredly, and I felt some of the tension in my chest loosen. Knowing he’d made the right decision; that sleep would fix the immediate problem, and the rest we could figure out in time.
“You’re right, mom,” he said, still watching me. “Things are different, now. What with Oli and I dating, and all.”
It’d already been quiet, but now that silence was deafening.
I wanted to be able to grab his words, and push them back into his mouth.
Scoop them up, like they were slippery, dangerous bubbles; crank back the clock, even just a few seconds, and set us on a different path.
Like the wince just after you curb a wheel in the parking lot, and the desperate plea to unhearing gods for the tiniest do-over, a nudge onto an easier timeline.
There was no chance of that, of course. Only Flynn’s mom looking between us with an expression somewhere between confusion, dismay, and shock.
“Flynn...” Her voice sounded brittle.
“You heard me, mom.” Finally, he broke his stare at me. Turned, to look at her instead. “Oli and I are together, and he’s going to move in with me.”
“This is the liquor talking,” she said, sourly. It came with a glare in my direction, leaving no confusion as to who she thought had been plying him with booze.
“It was beer,” Flynn corrected. “And no, this is honesty talking. Oli’s my boyfriend, I think he’s fucking amazing, and that’s all there is to it.”
The juice of a thousand lemons and limes would look upon his mom’s pursed lips with awe, I decided.
“Language, Flynn,” she snapped, as though his cursing was the very final straw, and then stalked back into the house.
For a moment I thought the wind was picking up, that a gale was sweeping down the street. Almost turned, in fact, to look at the trees to gauge their bending; to see if the last of the dry, brown leaves had finally been dragged loose.
Realized, a second later, that the roaring was all in my own ears.
“That was...” Stupid. Unnecessary. A complication neither of us needed.
Flynn’s stare was unblinking, even if his eyes were still somewhat glazed. “We’re doing this, okay? You and me. We’re giving this the best fucking shot we can, and that means no reaching for easy excuses down the line.”
“You drank too much.”
He hissed in frustration. “That has nothing to do with it. Or, if it does, only in that it gave me the courage to say something that needed to be said.”
“You needed to out us both, at midnight, on your front step? That seemed like the very best way to tell your mom, not only that you’re gay, but you’re in a relationship with someone you know full well she disapproves of?”
“Should it make a difference to us, whether she approves or not?”
I frowned. “No, but...”
“You know what would’ve happened, Oli,” he interrupted.
“You’d have moved away, and we’d be living together, and all the time this would be the secret that hung over it all.
Maybe not a lie, not if they didn’t ask something directly, but a deception all the same.
Souring every thought of home, complicating every visit.
” He gestured at my house. “We’d get to be one way, the very best way, when we saw your parents, and then a different way with mine.
Always on edge, worried that someone would say something carelessly, and give the game away. ”
“I don’t think, based on her reaction just now, that your mom is going to be suggesting ‘dinner with the in-laws’ any time soon.” I sighed. “It’s a nice idea, it really is. Only you ignored the fact that she might not be okay with there being a ‘you and me’ at all.”
“Then at least we’d know!” Flynn pushed his hands through his hair. Looking exasperated and suddenly a lot more sober. “She doesn’t have to like it, Oli. She just has to know about it, so that I can make the most of the opportunity I’ve got, now.”
“It just feels so awkward,” I admitted.
“No, it feels liberating,” he insisted. “I want her and my dad to be okay with us, I want them to be happy that we’re happy together.
But if they’re not, well, now I’ll know I can’t expect that from them.
Which fucking sucks, but lots of things fucking suck in life, and so you just have to hope you can close the door on them and move forward. ”
I stared at him, at the intense expression on his handsome face. Thinking about what he’d said, and how he’d said it; I’d been so caught up in the secret being spilled, I hadn’t really processed the words he’d actually used. Just the memory of them now was enough to leave me blushing.
“It’s funny. All the times your mom boasted about you, I don’t think she ever mentioned how brave you were.”
Flynn made a face. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I stepped back up, onto the porch. Ignoring the fear that we might be being watched; the prickling sensation down my back, at the idea that his mom might be glaring daggers at me from some crack in the curtains.
Focused instead on how good it felt to wrap my arms around him and pull him in tight to me.
“There are lots of ridiculous things about this week,” I said, softly, “but you being brave is not one of them. I’m really looking forward to living with you.”
“Oli...”
“Just shut up and take the compliment,” I warned him. “Stop ruining the moment.”
Flynn shut up, and took the compliment, and we had our moment.